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Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply